"This is Milgrom," John says. His hand sweeps over the high-rises and boulevards. A quick flick of the wrist, and the map centers on a hilly region outside the built-up zone of the city proper. "This is the suburb we're interested in." His hand moves again, and the view zooms in to a small house perched on a cliff overlooking the city. "And this is the address in Lambert's file."

"It's a pretty defensible position." Taylor leans over the conference table. "What do we know about the bad guys? We gonna have to fight our way in there?"

John shakes his head. "Judging from the sat photos Liara sent me, there aren't any defenses. Feeds from the traffic camera at this intersection—his finger hovers above the map—don't show anything but the usual suburban activity. And her source says any kind of force buildup would be noticeable in that neighborhood. Most of the residents have a token security staff. Personal bodyguard, nothing more. It's all very... civilized."

"Wow," Taylor says. "So we can just walk in? That'll be a nice change."

"Don't get too excited," Garrus says. "I know there's a but coming."

John looks at him, seems about to say something. But then he just sucks in air through his teeth, and turns back to the map.

"Liara also found this." He taps the console, and a vid begins to play.

A restaurant. White tablecloths, real flowers in the vases. Waiters in black shirts and pants carrying oversized trays high above the tables. The viewpoint is from overhead, a fixed security cam.

"There's our old friend Hairgel," Garrus says. "Back wall, second table from the right."

"Who's the other guy?" Taylor asks.

John pauses the vid. "His name is Mikel Regada. He's a lieutenant in a syndicate that calls itself Ajuda. Not one of the largest on Bekenstein, but well-run. Used to do mainly specialized contract work. But Liara says they're moving up. Regada, and some of his underlings, have been observed at a medical research facility twenty klicks out of Milgrom. Not a one-time thing. Regada's there practically every day. Liara says most of the researchers deal with, quote, newly-discovered compounds from xenoflora and their effects on human neurophysiology. Some big names. Apparently they're well-regarded in the field."

"This gang's getting in at the forefront of drug research," Garrus says. "That's innovative thinking for lowlife scum. Criminals aren't usually interested in long-term projects with high failure rates. It's almost like... they have money to burn."

"So you think they're using Morel to fund this research?" Taylor asks. "Or is he into them for something besides Rapture?"

"If Morel's just a customer, and Hairgel's just a delivery boy who turns tricks, he's got no reason to be talking to Regada."

"Five minutes out from Bekenstein, Commander," Joker calls over the intercom.

John shuts down the display. "Let's go."

There's literally no security. The shuttle drops them off a few meters from the front door and they walk straight up to it.

John hits the intercom. "John Shepard, to see Daniel Morel."

A synthesized voice replies, "One moment, please."

John walks a few paces away from the door and turns to look out over the cliff. Garrus follows the direction of his gaze. From here, the view of the city is impressive, even seen through the early morning haze. There's a small garden between the house and the edge of the cliff. It looks a lot like the one under the study window in Morel's old house. Peaceful. There's even a pond—Garrus wanders over to it—yes, fish too.

There's a beep from the house and the front door unlocks. It opens, and Morel is standing there. He looks like he just got out of bed. He's wearing only baggy pants and his feet are bare. There's more than a day's worth of stubble on his chin. He blinks at John.

"Hello, Daniel."

"Fuck." Morel walks away, back into the house, leaving the door open.

John seems to think this is adequate invitation. He walks in. Garrus shifts his shoulders to make sure his weapons are still there, exchanges a glance with Taylor, and follows.

The living room has three leather couches arranged around an unused fireplace. There are bookcases and display shelves on one of the walls, but they're all empty. The mantel above the fireplace is bare. The only things in the room besides the furniture are a bottle of Scotch and a glass, both sitting on a side table. Morel throws himself onto the largest couch and runs a hand through his hair.

"Does Ariane have you running her errands now?"

John ignores the question. He takes up a position on the opposing wall. "What are you doing, Daniel?"

"Me? I'm living my own life and minding my own business." Morel grabs the bottle of Scotch and pours himself a large one. "What are you doing, John?" He downs the contents of the glass and laughs sardonically.

"Daniel. Focus. Look at me."

Morel wags a finger in the air. "Still look good, John. I'll give you that. Running around killing people suits you." He pours another drink.

Garrus can tell by the set of John's shoulders that he's tense. But he can't see John's face from where he's standing, and he needs to, so he takes a couple of steps to the left.

Morel looks at him. "Who the fuck are you?"

Garrus is prepared for this. This time I get to pick what I pretend to be. "Mr. Morel. Who's running the company while you're here? Are you planning to remain on Bekenstein permanently? Have you appointed a successor? And will outstanding contracts for ag-mechs continue to be honored?"

Morel makes a rude noise. "Ah, fuck you. And you can tell the fucking Hierarchy to fuck themselves." He looks at John. "Fucking turians."

There's a brief flash of humor in John's eyes, but Morel is drinking from his glass and doesn't see it. John says, "What's your connection to Ajuda, Daniel?"

Morel stretches both arms out along the back of the couch and leans his head back. "I don't owe you any answers, John."

"I bet you'll answer anyway."

"Yeah, why not. We have... a mutually beneficial business arrangement."

John folds his arms. "They supply you with Rapture."

Morel laughs, his head lolling. "And so much more."

"What else?"

Morel doesn't answer.

John takes a step closer. "What else do they give you, Daniel?"

Morel stands up unsteadily. He extends an arm and sweeps it around the room. "Everything! A whole other life!" He collapses back onto the couch.

"And what do you give them, Daniel?" John says, softly.

Morel shrugs, his bare shoulders sliding against the leather of the couch. "Just money. That's all they want."

"Where's your stuff?"

"My what?"

"The paintings you used to have. The antique arms collection. The old photographs."

"In crates, somewhere." Morel waves vaguely towards the hallway which leads to the rest of the house. "They packed it all for me. Haven't unpacked."

"It's been two weeks," John says. "What have you been doing?"

"Living my own fucking life!"

There's a noise from somewhere else in the house. It's faint, but Garrus is sure he heard it. Like a drawer being slid open. He flicks a mandible. John's eyes acknowledge the warning, and Taylor nods slightly.

John says, "Why'd you get the tattoo removed, Daniel?"

Morel runs his left hand over his right bicep. "Wiped the slate clean. Just like it never happened."

"But it did happen. And it meant something to you, once. It meant a hell of a lot to you." John runs a finger down the left side of his own face. "I see you also got that scar taken care of. You had the choice at the time, and you said you'd rather keep it, in memory of your men, the ones who died. You change your mind about that too?"

"Hey, if I could get back all those fucking years I spent working for the Alliance, I would. At least the syndicate admits they're thieves and murderers."

"That's what you think of your platoon? Those who died serving humanity?" Taylor says. "You're a disgrace to their memory."

Morel squints at him. "Who the fuck are you?"

John sighs. "This is pointless." He turns, and his hand goes to his holster. In a louder voice, he declares, "He's not himself. We should just have all his accounts frozen."

Garrus moves between Morel and the hallway, his own hand reaching back for his rifle. A second later, Hairgel emerges from the back room, holding a pistol. He fires, and Taylor's barrier flickers as it absorbs the energy from the round. Almost simultaneously, there's another shot, and Hairgel falls to the floor.

John signals Taylor forward. Taylor takes point and slides into the hallway, stepping over the body, leading with his shotgun.

"Clear," he says. He and John disappear into the next room.

Garrus keeps one eye on Morel as his ears track the progress of the other two through the house. Morel doesn't seem unduly distressed by the fact that his lover has a hole between the eyes, courtesy of John's pistol. Garrus wonders if any of this has even registered on him.

"You're not from the Ag Ministry, are you," Morel says, distantly.

"No," Garrus says.

"You're with John?"

"Yes."

"That other guy—Marine?"

"Ex-Marine."

"Hmm. Figures." Morel closes his eyes. "Word of advice. You can pass this along to your friend. Don't break up with John Shepard, 'cause sooner or later he'll come to your house and shoot your lover."

Garrus spends the next few minutes resolutely not thinking about smashing Morel's face in, concentrating instead on listening to the sounds from the rest of the house.

John's voice in his earpiece: "House is clear. We're heading back to you, Garrus."

Morel's eyes open when the two men re-enter the room. He drawls, "Did you really have to kill him, John? I liked having him around. Dumber than dirt, but a great lay."

"You don't seem too broken up about it," John says, holstering his weapon.

"That's because I'm on some fucking good shit. What's your excuse?" Morel stares at John. "You don't feel a thing, do you? It's just another kill to you. Add it to the scorecard. John Shepard, fucking hero. Do you even know how many lives you've taken?"

Taylor says, "Do you know how many lives you're destroying by working with this syndicate?"

"Oh fuck, is this the drugs are evil speech? It's called free will, sunshine. People have it. They don't have to use. Ajuda provides a product because there is a demand. No demand, no syndicate. Basic economics, baby."

"Free will?" Taylor steps closer. "I suppose you'll say the people you have your fun with while you're on Rapture are having sex with you out of their own free will. And when you're done with them, and they're begging you for the drug and puking their organs out into the gutter, I guess that's free will too."

John puts an arm out in front of Taylor and says, "Don't get any closer."

"How sweet," Morel says. "Don't worry, I won't touch him. Won't even try. I don't kill everyone who gets in my way. Unlike you—"

"Commander." Joker's voice over the comm. "There's a couple of shuttles heading straight at you. I'm guessing they're not the neighborhood welcome committee bringing you milk and cookies."

John looks at Morel. "Your friends from Ajuda?"

"Maybe. How the fuck would I know?"

"I knew it was too good to last," Taylor says.

Garrus unholsters his rifle and moves to a spot by the window. The whine of shuttles is getting louder. The first one comes into view, dips down low and lands. The second is behind the house. Boots on the ground. At least a dozen men in each shuttle.

Someone says: "Move out. And watch for snipers!"

Good advice. Garrus sneaks a look over the window sill. No lack of targets. He puts a round into the head of the nearest one and crouches back down. There's shouting. A grenade lands on the floor next to him. He picks it up and throws it back out, towards the shouting. An explosion. More shouting.

The front door bursts inwards with the sound of ripping metal. Taylor's arms move, there's a crackle of blue light, and the confused screams of someone being accelerated into the path of a shotgun blast. Then the back door gives way with another crash, and for the next several minutes Garrus has no time to enjoy the fight. Part of his mind notices John going towards the hallway, the blur in the air when he cloaks, the sound of weapons fire being exchanged at the back of the house. But he has little attention to spare because the tactical situation is less than optimal at the moment. The bastards are trying to get inside through the door and the windows and he's got to keep moving because leather couches are shit as cover and even more so when they're as perforated as these ones are right now. Run duck fire repeat and well, there's less of them now, at least the breathing ones, so this isn't going too badly—fuck Taylor's been hit, he's flat on the ground and shit shit shit they're breaking through, run duck fire got the fucker and as if that isn't enough, he has to keep Morel from stepping into the path of a fucking bullet—

"Drop it."

He turns. Morel's standing over Taylor with a pistol in his hand, not quite pointing it at Taylor's head. It's quiet. None of the bad guys are moving and the shooting has stopped, except for some sporadic shots coming from the back of the house.

"Drop your weapon, turian."

"Or what? You'll kill him?"

"That's the usual implication when someone says drop it while holding a gun to your friend's head. You want a minute to think it through?"

"So I drop my weapon, and then what? You think you're going to walk out of here? Go plot to take over the world with Ajuda?"

"That's the plan, yeah."

Taylor's fingers are moving. His eyes are still closed, but he's conscious. His index finger draws a tiny circle in the air.

"Not going to happen," Garrus says.

"Then I guess your friend dies." Morel's finger moves on the trigger.

"Daniel." John, in the hallway. "Stop. Think about what you're doing."

"I am thinking about it, John. I think about what I'm doing all the time. All the fucking time. Can't stop thinking about it. Where do you think all my good ideas come from?"

"Daniel. What were you just saying about not killing everyone who gets in your way?"

"Yeah, well. Time and circumstance make liars of us all."

John lowers his weapon and takes a few steps closer. "What happened to you, Daniel? What happened to the man I knew?"

Morel gives a short bark of laughter. "He died, John. Or maybe he never really existed."

"He did exist. Once."

"No, he just had you fooled."

"Daniel, listen to me—"

"You listen to me, John. This is me. I choose this. My free will." Morel holds out his hand, palm down, fingers extended. "See? Stone cold sober. And I say fuck the Alliance, fuck Ariane and her fucking redfruit wine, fuck the company, fuck Demeter. Fuck the fate of fucking humanity. I don't give a fuck." He stares at John, then turns his face away. "Never did."

Garrus sees the anger flare in John's eyes. Sees his weapon come up and aim at Morel. Sees the numbers in his visor scrolling up, John's heartrate rising. Sees John's shoulders tensing. He feels John's rage. Garrus lets his instincts take over, lets his body do what it knows to do, lets time slow down as Taylor throws a barrier up and rolls left and Morel's finger hits the trigger and his head jerks back and the blood blooms between his eyes and he falls while the other round makes the barrier dance and drops with a rattling sound to the dark wood floor.

Morel's eyes are open, staring. His mouth is open too, pleading. The face is a mess. Not for the first time. A flap of skin hangs down over his left eye, exposing white bone beneath. Garrus hears, somewhere behind him, the crack of a medigel pack and Taylor hissing in pain. He remembers Ariane Morel, posed, the red jewel at her throat. He looks up at the bare walls surrounding them, riddled with hundreds of bullet holes. Then looks back down into the ruined face. So this is Daniel Morel.

Taylor leans back against the bulkhead of the shuttle with a grunt, holding his side. "Damn that fuckin' psycho. You sure know how to pick them, Shepard."

"Well, I think my taste has improved since then." John's lips curl briefly, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

Garrus says, "I'm sorry about Daniel, John. I'm sorry it had to end that way."

"Yeah. One for your scorecard, Garrus."

"Better mine than yours."

Taylor looks out the shuttle window. "Was that all bullshit, Shepard? Do you think it's true, that he never cared?"

John shakes his head. "I'd like to think he did care, once. But I—" He shakes his head again.

Garrus puts a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah." John rubs the back of his neck. He's tired. "No. I'm tired. And—" He stops. "But it doesn't matter anymore. In the end, he wasn't who I thought he was."

Garrus catches John's gaze and says, deliberately, "Yeah, not really your type. Everyone knows you like men with scars."

John's eyebrow rises. "You sure of that?"

"You were pretty convincing last night." He steps closer, and presses his hand to John's cheek.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Taylor nodding. "Shit. This explains a lot. A hell of a lot." He snorts. "Add a few hundred million turian military to the waiting list, and you got your work cut out for you, Shepard."

John's laughing now, a full-throated laugh coming from deep within him. "Unattractive, Jacob."

Then he smiles at Garrus, and there's that something in his eyes again. Garrus thinks, maybe, he's beginning to understand what that something is.

-END-

Thanks to smehur for the prompt and beta.